


Most Respectable

by AllTheBellsInVenice



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 100 follower ficlets, F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fill, Sherlolly - Freeform, Victorian, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/pseuds/AllTheBellsInVenice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Victorian England, a dashing detective from London and a fine young lady with unusual aspirations discuss the finer points of proper behavior. A prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Respectable

_Anonymous said: Two walls. :-P_

“Mr Holmes, this alley is so very narrow,” Miss Hooper said, her voice all a-tremble. She picked up her skirts and stepped delicately over a little puddle; she would have gone around, but the dark passageway between her father’s townhouse and their neighbour’s was not even two feet wide.

“Please, call me Sherlock,” the tall man just ahead of her said, turning, and even in the dim light of a faraway gas lamp, she could make out his sardonic smile above his starched collar. “Ought not a young lady to call her lover by his Christian name?”

“I need not mention that a truly respectable young lady ought not to have a lover at all,” Miss Hooper said, smiling back at the daring blade, whom she had met only days before in the medical section of the city library.

“Nor should any woman be reading books on anatomy, let alone a fine lady such as yourself,” Mr Holmes said, doffing his hat and setting it in a high windowsill. “But I don’t care a fig for that sort of respectability. Obviously.”

Miss Hooper regarded him fondly. “Besides, even if you call yourself a detective…you’re a mere tradesman, when all is said and done,” she told him, slipping one gloved hand wickedly inside his long coat. “A certain distance must be maintained.”

“Hmmm, not quite. I come from country squires, I’ll have you know.” The man she knew as Mr Sherlock Holmes pulled her close against his tall, lean frame, and Miss Hooper thrilled to feel his body so close to hers, his…his manhood swelling in his trousers.

“How close must a man be to a lady before she may use his given name? What about this close?” And he took her face between his hands, leaned over without a bit of hesitation, and kissed the breath out of her. When he finally released her, she gulped and put out a hand to the wall for balance.

“That’s n-not close enough,” Miss Hooper gasped. She leaned back against the wall, hitching up her bustle with one hand so that the wire framework folded upward.

“Well, then,” Mr Holmes purred against her ear as he drew off his gloves. “How about…this close?”

And his hand slipped down the neck of her evening bodice, past her corset, inside her chemise, until he was rolling one tender nipple between his cool fingertips.

“Oh, Mr Holmes,” Molly cried, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I assume that reaction is chagrin at not giving me my name, and not fear of being…overheard,” he said, glancing up at the dark windows that loomed nearly overhead.

“Oh, if they were to catch us here, Mr Holmes…”

“Molly,” he said, bending and catching at the hem of her full, draped skirt, passing his hand underneath—-reaching past two petticoats, her bustle, and the hem of her chemise until his hand was stroking the starched fabric of her long drawers. “Would you call me ‘Sherlock’ if I drew close enough to do…this?” And Molly shivered as his fingers found the opening in her drawers and slipped into the wet seam of her sex.

She sighed at his touch, letting her head fall back against the wall. His shoulder scraped the opposite wall, so near, as he turned to face her fully, his hand stroking her with a skill that had shocked Miss Hooper during that first, stolen time on her parlour settee. What he’d done to her then…she wanted it again now.

She twined her arms around his neck. “Still not close enough,” she whispered shyly into his cravat.

Taking her hint, Mr Holmes drew his hand away and lifted her hips, then threw her skirts up and plucked at his own trousers. Miss Hooper wrapped her legs about his waist, feeling the cool night air kiss her white thighs above the tops of her stockings.

When Mr Holmes pushed himself gently inside her, Miss Hooper gave a faint moan; she was still a little sore from when he’d taken her, just once before. He rocked her against the wall.

“Molly, Molly,” he panted into her hair. “Marry me. I care nothing for your father’s opinion.”

Miss Hooper clung to him, gasping her pleasure in his body and his words.

“You don’t give up easily, Mr Holmes,” she said, smiling. She wanted his hands down her bodice again, but he was occupied with holding her up. So Miss Hooper braced her little slippered feet against the opposite wall, and Mr Holmes soon caught on, supporting her with only one hand and touching her everywhere, everywhere. Miss Hooper hummed her satisfaction.

“Marry me,” Mr Holmes said again as he moved in her. “Tomorrow morning. First thing. Then run away with me to London.” She pushed back against him; oh, he was so strong, handsome, so very dashing, but…

“I would not make…such a good wife…you know,” she breathed. A sensation was building in her…something that made her want to reach…

“Oh, Molly, your father…he is a fool,” Mr Holmes cried. “If you wish…to go to the School…of Medicine…then by God, you shall go!” And he pushed into her with a rising desperation.

“Then I shall marry you, Sherlock!” Miss Hooper cried, and he laughed in delight, and moved against her sweetly until both of them had surrendered to that sweetest of peaks, their tender promises to each other held forever secret in the bosom of the night.


End file.
